Radar
by Light Catastrophe
Summary: When it comes to Troy, Ryan's radar, or, rather, his gay-dar, fails to work. Tryan. Oneshot.


**R**_a_d**a**_r_

**B**_y_ L**i**_g_h**t** _C_a**t**_a_s**t**_r_o**p**_h_e

Rating: T

**Pairing**: Tryan

_Warnings_: slash, vague sex, swearing

Disclaimer: High School Musical does not belong to me – even in my dreams.

**Babblings**: I decided that it's been too long since I wrote a Tryan, so I just started writing and this is what happened. I actually rather like it. Ryan makes me laugh. His mind is chaotic.

_**x-x-x-x-X-x-x-x-x**_

When you're someone like me, it's very easy to pick out other people exactly like yourself. It's like I have this thing inside my head that says _He's one. He's just like you_. Or, well, something along those lines. But I _know_.

The only problem is that when it matters the most, that little radar just seems to shut of and suddenly _I don't know_. And it's just so frustrating. Because he's the one. I know he's the one, but what if he's not even _like_ me?

You might ask me, "Well, then what _are_ you like Ryan?" And I'd tell you, simply, because it's a simple truth, "I'm gay." And then you may throw stones at me, taunt me, decide to crucify me, or accept me. It matters not, really. Because this is who I am. I've always been this way. _You can't change that_. Sure, you may say that it was my annoying sister who made me this way, made me hate girls, but the truth is I love my sister and I definitely don't hate girls. I just can't imagine kissing them. You may say that all the drama in my life has made me this way, but I know plenty of drama kids that are perfectly _normal_, well at least when it comes to their sexuality.

But like I said before, normally if I see a gay kid I know he's straight and if I see a straight kid I can tell he's straight. But with _him_ I simply cannot tell.

So now you ask me, "Well who _is_ he?" And I'll tell you do stop asking such personal questions. So then you get down on your knees and beg me to tell you and I finally give in after hours and hours. (Not quite.) "It's Troy Bolton."

"But he's obviously straight," you say. "He dated Gabby for several months." But, no, Troy is not _definitely_ straight, but he is also not _definitely_ gay. I mean… he broke up with her for no apparent reason and they still get along perfectly fine. _Scandalous_.

"Ryan." Shit, he's talking to me. _Back to earth, Ryan. Back to earth_. "Can I come over tonight so we can work on the song?"

Oh! The song. For the musical this time around, Troy and I have a duet and he's kinda been coming over to my house to work on it. And I can't say no to those beautiful eyes.

"Sure," I say, shrugging my shoulders in an attempt to appear casual. "That's fine. No one's going to be home. My parents are out of town and Sharpay's going out with Gabby. She's gonna spend the night there. They've gotten awfully close lately."

He nods, a strand of shaggy hair falling into his eyes, which seem –dare I say it? Dare I _think_ it?– hopeful. Suddenly, the day cannot go by fast enough. But then, just because I want time to go by faster, it drags on and on and _on_. As I enter Miss Darbus' classroom for last period, I see a new poster on her wall and almost have to laugh. It reads: _Go ahead and kill time. It's already killing you_. That seems kind of morbid of her, but at the same time… it's funny. It comical. And totally, off-the-wall random. Troy walks into the room a moment later, sees the poster and bursts out in a fit of laugher. And we share this _moment_. I'm not really sure how to describe it. I looked into his eyes and he looked into mine and then I knew. He opened his heart just a little bit and I _knew_. But, somehow, I think that made it worse than if I didn't know.

Before you say, "See, I told you he was straight Ryan," let me tell you that he's not. At all. And _now_ before you ask, "Then why is it worse?" I will say it's because I'm scared. Ha. I know, I know. I don't really seem like the type to get scared about stuff like this. And I'm not, usually, only when it matters.

I hop into his pickup after school and we drive in (a contented?) silence to my house. I occasionally take a few sneaky glances toward him, loving the way the sun shines off his hair and the way his eyes seem so full of life.

Inside the house, I sit down at the piano grand piano and he stands off to the side, leaning against it. We work for some time and I find myself entranced by his beautiful voice and how perfectly our voices meld together in harmony. Then, he suddenly stops singing and I feel his hand on top of mine, halting the music, and I realize I've closed my eyes. Before I can open them, though, he places his other hand over my eyelids. And he close, so close I can feel his soft, warm breath on my skin and the fear from before rises into my heart. Yet, at the same time, I know he won't hurt me. I say that with the same confidence I say I know he's _like me_.

"Ryan." He says my name like it's gospel. "Ryan," he says again, this time his voice wavering a bit. "Is this okay?"

_Is this okay?_ I repeat his question in my mind. He hasn't actually done anything yet, but I know what he's saying and _hell yes it's okay_! Well, I want to say that, but instead it comes out as a weak, "Yes."

Then he removes his hand from my eyes and entwines our fingers and all I'm thinking is that _I want more_. So I squeeze his hand reassuring me and suddenly he's back to his usual almost-cocky self, except for the fact that he's a boy holding hands with another boy and we're alone in my parents' house.

It's a Friday night and we're both nervous, so we sit down to a movie and, after a few minutes, neither of us are paying attention to it, instead exploring each other's bodies. And, although all our clothes are still on, part of me says that we're moving too fast and I'm sure you're saying that, too. But this is a long time in coming. It's always been there. I've been so sure he's _the_ boy for such a long time and now I know he feels the same way, especially when he says, "God, Ryan, I've wanted to do this for so long. So goddamn long." And then he kisses me and it's like nothing I've ever done before. Yes, I've kissed before, but it's never been like this and it's never felt this _right_.

All our clothes disappear in a matter of moments and he's _worshipping_ my body and I'm doing the same to his. I touch his rock-hard abs and his muscular arms and I feel very small next him. But he smiles, as though he's reading my mind, and then we're _making love_ (on my parents' couch) the likes of which has never been made before. And I know we're making love and not just having sex even though neither of us has said those words yet. We're saying it with our bodies. Even in the heat of the moment, I can't help but notice that I fit perfectly beneath his body. And I notice that he also knows what he's doing and I feel jealous of anyone he's ever done this with before. But I'm the first boy he's done it with. He doesn't have to say it for me to know.

When it's all over, he grins down at me and then he says the words, those words I've been waiting so long to hear: "I love you so fucking much." Okay, so he's not the most poetic person, but I love him all the more for it. I say the words right back (much more poetically) and he pulls me into his arms, ruffling my hair.

I laugh a bit. Sharpay'll kill me come morning.

_**x-x-x-x-X-x-x-x-x**_

**Babblings: **I think that's the least dialogue I've ever written in a story. Actually, I'm quite proud of it. Review!


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